He inventoried the box of pots, numbered it and gave the arresting detective a receipt. He bagged her purse, watch and sterling silver earrings and handed the receipt to her.
“Good job,” he said to Aquilon, much to Julianne’s dismay.
The sergeant led the way down a short hallway and into an interrogation room. She’d been in one of these before but for pro bono work in dealing with a young culprit who’d stolen food for his sick mother. As the home-health nurse on the case, she’d testified in his defense.
“The charges will be dropped as soon as my boss gets here,” she informed her captor, who leaned against the door frame and observed her with no expression in his dark eyes. Unease flittered through her again. There was no way those silly charges would stick, she assured her sinking spirits, not for doing a good deed. She needed only to remain calm until the situation was cleared up.
“Who’s your boss?” the superhero asked.
“Chief Windover. He can vouch for me. He’s head of the tribal council. I have a contract to provide health services for the people,” she explained, using the name the tribe preferred in referring to themselves. She sat at the table and scrubbed at the black residue on her fingers.
“Are you Hopi?” Aquilon demanded. He and the desk sergeant exchanged glances.
She realized if she answered in the affirmative she would probably be turned over to the tribe for them to deal with the crime. However, while she was one-eighth Native American on her maternal side, she didn’t belong to the local tribe.
“No, but as a nurse-midwife, I do prenatal and delivery care for the tribe. I also run a clinic three days a week and do home visits in special cases.”
After her explanation, the sergeant nodded to the investigator and left the room. The inquisition continued.
“Why were you transporting and selling artifacts?”
“I wasn’t. Those were Josiah’s pots, not artifacts.”
“Guess again. All six are priceless antiques stolen from the new dig down in the canyon.”
“Chaco Canyon, yes, you said that earlier. But I’m sure you’re mistaken. Josiah wouldn’t—”
“What was your cut?” he demanded, startling her by suddenly leaning across the table and getting right in her face while he gave her a really mean stare.
“Nothing. Didn’t you hear me? This is some kind of misunderstanding. Those pots aren’t priceless.” She tossed the paper towel on the table and crossed her arms. “Get an expert in here. Dr. Jones from the museum will set you straight.”
The older detective came in. He set a cup of coffee in front of her and kept one for himself. “Here. Sorry, we’re out of cream and sugar.”
“Thank you.” She took a sip of the coffee that tasted as if it had been made a week ago and left on the burner ever since. Nonetheless, she didn’t complain.
“Tony, here, is an expert on Native American art, including the ancient stuff,” the older man continued, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her.
“Him?” she said skeptically.
“That’s right,” the man called Chuck assured her. “He’s practically a professor.”
They both looked at the younger man, who leaned against the dingy wall. “Not quite,” he said with an irritated glance at the other man, as if Chuck had given away secrets he didn’t want to share. “I still have the dissertation to complete.”
“For your Ph.D.?” she questioned in open disbelief.
“Yeah.” His steady stare dared her to make something of it.
“I’m impressed,” she said, but with a sardonic edge she couldn’t quite conceal.
She tried to picture him as a staid professor of antiquities. The image was too stiff and formal to associate with the dynamic man who’d wrestled with her, arrested her and now observed her in an impassive manner as if her protests of innocence made no impression on him at all.
Tony Aquilon. Where had she heard the name?
She sighed. “I don’t know anything about ancient artifacts or any finds in Chaco Canyon or anywhere else. The couple needed money and asked me to take the pots to town. I said I would since they live over an hour from here and had just had their first child. He needed to stay with the mother and baby. It was the cutest little boy—”
A snort from the younger detective cut her off.
Okay, so she did love babies and tended to go on and on about them. But they were so sweet and trusting, something she hadn’t been in a long time.
Not since she was ten years old.
At that time two men had broken into her home and raped and killed her mom. She’d come home from school and found the horrible crime scene. Since that day, her father had made sure she and her two brothers learned self-defense, sending them to more advanced courses each year until they’d passed them all. Lots of noise and surprise tactics were the keys to escaping an enemy.
Her training hadn’t stopped her captor from arresting her, though. Recalling the strength in his embrace as he’d locked her in his arms, she was somewhat stunned as she realized he’d been incredibly gentle with her, not hurting her at all during the struggle.
She examined her wrist. Not a mark on it, not even a bruise from the handcuffs. Studying the special investigator covertly, she had to admit he was an enigma—a man who applied his strength with care instead of brute force.
“If you’re innocent, why did you run?” the special investigator demanded. He gingerly felt his nose.
“Because that’s what a normal person does when a stranger tries to nab you,” she informed him. “You need to put ice on that. It’ll stop the swelling.”
He gave her a narrow look, considered, then headed out of the room. “I should take a bath in the damn stuff,” she heard him mutter just before the door closed behind him.
“I think you bruised his pride,” the older detective said in a kind manner. “Who was it you said we should call?”
“Chief Windover. I have a number for him.” She gave the man the information. Once they checked her credentials, they would realize they had made a mistake and she would be free to go home.
The older man nodded. “Okay. I’ll see if we can’t get this straightened out.”
After he left, Julianne slumped into the chair. While she hadn’t been injured, she felt sore and just plain beat. Well, no wonder, after all that running and then wrestling around with the superhero.
Okay, so he was a special investigator with the National Park Service and the other cops obviously knew and respected him. That he was also an expert on ancient artifacts and a hunk was rather intriguing.
So?
So she didn’t know, except he made her feel…funny. Studying her wrist, she conceded he’d
